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Everything Is Turning Blue, Including Me

Museum Link:

Source Link:,-including-me-15299

Date Minted:  October 26, 2020

Artist Description: Everything is turning blue. My eyes once green leak blue. It's seeping out of every orifice. All I see is blue. Coming in waves washing over me. All I see is Blue.  

CohentheWriter’s Commentary:

The symbol that appears most frequently in Myriadinart’s work is the mask. From that very fact alone, so much of the artist’s sensibility arises, so much of their thematic exploration illuminated. Now, let’s gawk at the startling array of ways in which the artist has managed to capture that mask, imbuing it with an impressive gamut of emotional associations: frightening, sorrowful, enlightened, dangerous, transportative and transcendental, connective and isolative, all-powerful, revealing, imprisoning. I could go on. Over the course of a 42-piece collection of works on SuperRare, we find Myriadinart using this same building block of imagery to explore the deepest and most multifaceted reaches of her own soul, and in the process constructing an oeuvre that feels deeply, painfully personal, this stemming from the fact that it oftentimes is so deeply, painfully emotional. Genius in imagery shows up in a lot of ways, and in Myriadinart’s expression, it shows up as highly imaginative images which wring the emotion out of repetitious symbols. Only the symbols are static, however. The artist has a penchant for aesthetic experimentation, coupling her familiar mask-and-face-and body imagery with unpredictable styles, sporadic animation, the full 128-Crayola-Crayon set of colors, various levels of realism and cartoonishness, various amounts of overt autobiography. Myriadinart dabbles in cubism. She more than dabbles in collage. Grotesque imagery has its place here too, often presented in stark white, sterile settings. So many of her pieces are entirely in their own class, but Everything Is Turning Blue, Including Me still feels especially unique. Perhaps that’s a result of its tacit fairy-tale allusions. Perhaps it stems from the fascinating art style. Perhaps it’s because of how cutting the blue eyes in its center are, and how deeply we feel them as they stare at us, unblinking, for as long as we dare stare back.

Everything is turning blue. My eyes once green leak blue. It's seeping out of every orifice. All I see is blue. Coming in waves washing over me. All I see is Blue,” Myriadinart says of her piece. It’s far more than just an aesthetic admission, I presume. 

Although even aesthetically, blue isn’t the dominant color used here; that would be black. The meat of the piece all takes place in the foreground, atop a perfect black background, and though that background remains unanimated and static, the fact that such a powerfully dark color looms over the identifiable proceedings seems telling, somewhat sinister even. Everything hasn’t turned blue yet, but perhaps everything that matters. Which is to say, Myriadinart’s trademark mask, this one devoid of any emotion other than a very slight sneer or pout. A quite lifelike mask, apparently hand-painted, and though realistic in texture, is colored the blueish grey of someone recently choked-to-death. With an upturned nose, deep navy blue lips, and blue eyes so dark that their intentions are hidden, the mask suggests the tortured history of an enigmatic character. What are its intentions? Who knows. What are its emotions? Those are also hidden from us behind the veil that such oddly-colored features naturally erect. The mask is a passive character in the piece, something that is placed in various positions, and unceremoniously dropped, shattering its fragile form into many pieces, by two yellowed and disembodied hands that extend from the right and left edges of the piece. Herein lies the agency. Yellow always reminds me of Apocalypse Now, with its seedy, yellow-colored intimations of psychological horror (one of Francis Ford Coppola’s master strokes). That, and also Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper, a fascinating and widely-read short story about female agency and erasure. And here, too, there seems to be something sickly and wrong with the hands, their carelessness and how closely they resemble claws or talons. Tipped with blue nail polish, they engage forever in the act of thoughtlessly dropping the fragile blue mask that, one might assume, is some facet of the artist herself. 

I’d be turning blue, so to speak, if I were also so clearly without agency as the mask in this piece, just something to be picked up and fondled and dropped willy-nilly, with nary a concern for its wellbeing or, more overtly, its cohesion. Tellingly, the mask’s expression never changes. I, for one, don’t see that as a given. It seems much more like a choice. A choice to show this mask without emotion, without power, without any tangible response to its sequence of small, sudden destructions. Perhaps that’s a result of expectation, or a result of accepted powerlessness. Let us also not ignore the cyclical nature of the looping animation. With Myriadinart only sporadically using animation, we must assume there’s always some larger reasoning here. And the most easily-identifiable one is that this cycle of external fondling, carelessness, and destruction is common, is repetitive, and the mask’s emotionlessness is one that was learned through experience and not an automatic consequence of its composition. 

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